


Kathartírio

by Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee (orphan_account)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F, F/M, Forbidden Love, Homophobia, M/M, Slow Burn, That's it, half medieval half futuristic, like on a scary level, this is actually one big scream for GAY RIGHTS, weird world
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Books_and_Cats_and_Coffee
Summary: Captain Sara Lance commands a crew of traders aboard a barely floating prayer, or so Investigator Ava Sharpe believes. With her home overruled by a tyrannical Sovereign, Sara and her crew smuggle illegal goods and people both in and out of the region. With only a vague hope to one day free her region, Sara knows a single misstep could mean death for any member of her crew. Ava Sharpe would never allow such propaganda to turn her loyalty from the Sovereign. But a certain person might.
Relationships: Nora Darhk/Ray Palmer, Sara Lance/Ava Sharpe
Comments: 7
Kudos: 33





	1. The Ship at the Docks

_Starling-Region 06_

Ava Sharpe the Investigator General of the Darke Army stood on the wooden port, staring critically at the weather-beaten ship bobbing in the sunset stained waves of the harbor. The _Waverider_ was hardly an impressive vessel, on the contrary, it looked more like a floating steel bathtub, stuck with various components than an actual ship. What kept it above water, General Sharpe had no idea, sheer luck, or faith, maybe. She made a decisive note on her clipboard, pencil scratching roughly off the paper. While the ship’s body shape was typical enough, that was where the traditional design stopped. A short, squat tower sat in the front of the boat, one that looked suspiciously like a recycled lighthouse taken from the shore. To balance it, a large, crane like device dominated the opposite end, the metal claw hanging loosely now. Wires ran from the tower, to the deck, to the crane, and to various other locations. Below the water level, there were lights -among other devices- mounted on the underbelly of the vessel.

In short, it wasn’t impressive, and neither, thought General Sharpe derisively, was the captain. She saw the merchant now, leaning out of an open tower window, balance precarious as she tried to plug in a loose wire. Captain Sara Lance. Daughter of Quentin and Dinah Lance. Sister of the deceased Laurel Lance. When she was twelve, her father sent her to study abroad, and she was gone for eight years. Now, at twenty-two, she was the youngest -and maybe most successful- merchant trader around. It didn’t matter, best or worst, she still owed her allegiance to Starling. She was a citizen of the region, which meant she had dues to pay to the Sovereign. On top of that, as she had just returned to the region from an almost yearlong expedition, the ship had to be inspected and searched.

General Sharpe walked down the deck, followed by the two faceless soldiers; their dark masks covering their features completely. They were Ghosts, who they were didn’t matter. She stopped at the very edge of the dock, noting, with some annoyance, that Lance had anchored her vessel several yards away. The general reached for the silver whistle around her neck, lifting it to her lips and blowing one, long blast. She saw Lance startle, recovering easier before she fell from her perch, and sweep the shore for the source of the noise. Her gaze settled on the woman in her impeccable black uniform -a snug fitting black body suit, overlaid with a chest guard and belt- blonde hair pulled into a tight bun underneath her black cap.

“Captain Lance, prepare your ship for inspection!” the order carried clearly over the water, and Lance disappeared from view, visible again moments later as she emerged on the ship deck. The vessel chugged slowly towards the dock, carefully dodging the other ships in port. As it reached the wooden bridge, a gangway lowered, and anchor was dropped once more. General Sharpe didn’t waste time, and stepped onto the plank, steps sharp as she marched onboard. “Search the ship.” She snapped out the command to the two Ghosts following her, and they hastened to obey, taking opposite directions to being their rummage. Her eyes scanned the crew gathered to one side in a crooked, messy excuse for a line. First was the Captain herself, of course. Blonde haired, blue eyed and cocky, the attitude visible in her stance and expression even now. She wore a plain pair of pants, and a laced-up top made from rough leather that covered one shoulder and clasped around her neck, leaving her toned arms free. Her boots rose to mid-calf over her trousers tied snug. A light dusting of freckles danced across her fair complexion, complimenting the pink tinge in her cheeks.

Next was Ray Palmer. The General honestly couldn’t decipher his reason for joining the lowlife crew. He was a genius with his work, and his inventions would have made him rich. The Palmer name was prominent in the Dome, due entirely to his work, and yet, here he was. The upgrades he had made to the _Waverider_ were obvious. It was a waste really.

Mick Rory was the next in line. A close accomplice to the deceased Leonard Snart, a petty thief and bugler. Ending up here had undoubtedly saved Rory’s life, scooping him out of crime before he was executed by the authorities. After him stood a younger woman who General Sharpe didn’t remember seeing before. She stopped in front of the dark-haired girl, pencil hovering over her pad.

“Name?” She demanded it rather than asked, and she could see how nervous the girl was to reply. She couldn’t be any older than eighteen or nineteen, her hair pulled into a messy, low ponytail. Her olive skin looked tan from being in the sun.

“Zari Tomaz, ma’am, inspector,” the girl stumbled over the proper form of address, and General Sharpe turned to Lance, expression welcoming an explanation. Lance seemed to have the unfortunate habit of picking up strays wherever she went. The girl would have to be inspected and then registered immediately.

“Another vagrant for your gypsy crew, where’s this one from?” Gods, she hated this. The ship was a floating junkyard, the Captain was maddening and disrespectful. Of every responsibility General Sharpe was entrusted with, this was by far, her least favorite.

“05. Picked her up from the coast, took her away from a little settlement. I assume that’s not a crime now, finding help to move wares?” Lance knew her trade, and she knew that General Sharpe had no grounds on which to threaten the new girl. Not yet, at least. Region 05 was primarily a wasteland of desert, bandit country. But there were small villages along the water, and the general knew that it would be only natural for the inhabitants to want to escape such places.

“Have her registered by tomorrow, oh eight o’clock.” General Sharpe turned back to walking down the line. Next was the one Lance had picked up just last year. Charlie Jiwe. The name seemed random, imbalanced however, it was nothing compared to her outward appearance. Tight, colorful braids ran along one side of her head, and thick curls bundled around her face. Maybe it was in character for a merchant, but she stuck out in Region 06, especially Starling itself.

The sixth, and final crew member was more familiar. Nathaniel Haywood. Son of Hank Haywood, an advisor to Darke. Lance hadn’t been happy about that particular advancement. She had been looking for workers a couple years back and Haywood had been one of the two to respond to her notice. She had not been able to turn him away, especially compared to the competition, and Haywood had received the job. It was fortunate he had, General Sharpe reflected, or else, they might have no control over the _Waverider_ at all.

The Ghosts returned to her side, each giving her a short report. The ship was clear of any hazardous material or contraband. She made several tics on her pad of paper and walked past the crew again as she moved towards the gangway. General Sharpe paused in front of Lance, folding the clipboard under her arm.

“You owe dues to the Sovereign,” she stated, tone bored. “It may either be paid in currency, goods, or livestock.” Lance looked towards Haywood, nodding once and he stepped forward, holding out a small crate. One of the Ghost took it at the general’s command. Of course, Haywood would be the one entrusted with the dues, who else could be trusted with such on this drifted ship? “You know the Region laws, no brawls, no trouble. Keep your crew in check, Captain, or they will be detained.” Dues collected, inspection finished, General Sharpe left without any formal goodbye. Pleasantries were a waste of time.

The cart still waited by the entrance to the docks. The Ghost tied the crate in place, stepping up into the driver’s seat to steer the single horse attached to the front. The second Ghost followed General Sharpe into the cart body; a set of two seats facing each other with a canopy stretched above, the sides left open. The cart jerked to a start, and the general watched the identical, square houses flash by. The bare windows were all the same. At night or during bad weather, the black shutter could be drawn down over the openings; a requirement for Starling. During the day, on the other hand, it was mandatory all windows remain uncovered.

Further in, near the palace of the Sovereign, more exquisite, expensive manors stood proudly in the middle of green grass. These were the wealthier families; old money, or those who had found favor with the Sovereign. Each tried to be more impressive than the last, but none of them held a match to the glory of the palace. Even from their distance, the general could see the silver towers, slim and seemingly delicate -a misleading assumption- jutting into the sky. Oh yes, there was little that could outshine the Sovereign’s glory, and he sought anyway possible to prove that.

**O O O O**

“Alright kids, you all know the rules,” Sara Lance turned to face her crew, making sure they were all paying attention before she continued. “No one goes ashore alone, go in pairs, Len and Mick count as one, someone else, excluding Charlie, has to go with them. Zari, I’m sorry but you’re confined to the _Waverider_ until you’re registered. Any questions?” Why did it feel as though she had adopted seven kids?

“No mom,” the sarcastic chorus was echoed by Mick, Charlie, and Zari. The latter fit in a little too well in their rag tag group, quickly making friends with some and arguing nonstop with a couple others. Mick would go to the closest bar, probably with Charlie, and Nate would likely return to the Dome; the collection of buildings near the center of Starling reserved for political figures and the wealthy. It was where his parents lived, and Sara suspected he would want to visit them. Nate wasn’t a bad guy, a little too well kept sometimes, but he had a good heart. He was a hard worker, tried to get along with everyone -which of course, didn’t work so well with the _Waverider_ crew- and genuinely seemed to appreciate the job. But he was a Haywood. His father was advisor to the Sovereign, and Nate himself was fiercely loyal to the Sovereign. Collecting refugees and moving contraband was hella difficult with someone like him on board.

Sara herself had a different stop in mind. She made sure the _Waverider_ was secure in the harbor, checked on Zari one last time and was surprised to see Charlie sitting across from her, bottle in hand, smirk on her lips as she irritated the other woman. They both startled a little at the sight of Sara, before relaxing, realizing who the Captain was. Charlie touched a lazy finger to her brow in a passive salute. Sara shook her head with a smile and exited the ship, starting through Starling. She didn’t bother trying to find transport. The train went straight to the Dome, but the walk wasn’t too long, and she had no desire to waste a couple coins. She had only gone a short distance when a voice called after her.

“Captain! Wait up!” She turned to see Nate jogging after her, nimbly dodging around a few workers scattered across the dock. She paused until he had drawn level, arms crossed as she waited for whatever he had wanted to say. “If you’re going to the Dome, I’ll walk with you.” It wasn’t a suggestion of protection Nate wasn’t that dumb. It seemed like a genuine offer of company, and Sara smiled at him. As she had thought before, he wasn’t a bad guy, just a little mislead by the environment he had been raised in.

“Sure. Going back to see your folks?” It was a casual start to conversation, polite but still friendly, nothing too serious. That summed up their relationship, Sara reflected. Nate nodded in reply to her question, hands in his pockets as they strolled down the street.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice to check in,” his response was vague, and somewhat unenthusiastic. Nate never spoke about his parents, not unless he was pressed. The crew had quickly picked up on how much he disliked the topic and Sara had banned it from daily discussion. Nate changed the subject. “What about you, big news, right?” Sara didn’t answer right away. As they moved away from the harbor, their surroundings became more uniform and indistinguishable. By the port, there were only three rectangular buildings; the bar, the shop, and a Ghost outpost. Now, she was surrounded by square little homes. Further into the city, there was a market kept stocked by the surrounding orchards, farms, and merchant traders for the rarer items.

“Real big news.” And indeed, it was. It had been the first thing they heard about since coming into port. The misfortune of their work was that they never heard the local advancements. Hearing that Oliver Queen was alive and returned to Starling two weeks before them had startled Sara to say the least.

Five years ago, he had accompanied his father, Robert Queen, a powerful figure in Starling, on an overseas trip that skirted around the coast of Region 05. They had disappeared, and when two Enforcers were sent out after they, they found the ship ransacked and burned on the edge of the border by the sea. The Enforcers themselves had suffered, one of them not even returning from the Region but dying when they were attacked by bandits. The other had returned three years later, after destroying the primary bandit gang terrorizing Region 05, one that had been threatening to move into other lands.

It was a group led by a man named Edward Fyers, previously a soldier of Region 03. He had accumulated a powerful fighting force, and the fact that one of the Enforcers had managed to shut the entire thing down only leant to the frightening rumors surrounding the special soldiers. Enforcers were objects of fear in the eyes of the citizens of Region 06, and even those outside of it. Specially trained, deadly, and merciless, they were tasked with whatever job the Sovereign required of them. Assassination, infiltration, or even full on war. Sara was just glad their crew had never tangled with one of them.

Sara had been absent when Oliver ‘died’, still in Nanda Parbat, training under the watchful eye of Ra’s al Ghul, a warlord who her father had befriended years back. She had heard the news and grieved for him. The Lances and Queens had always been close, especially the children. Now, however, she hesitated to visit him. She had been relieved to hear the news of his life, but she didn’t know how to approach the stranger who had been her childhood friend. Especially now.

Nate seemed to understand that she was unwilling to discuss that topic, and he let the conversation die without complaint, hardly seeming to notice. He kept looking around, almost like an over excited puppy going on a walk in a new area for the first time. Not like a resident of the Region who had grown up in the Dome and never set foot outside Starling until just a year or so ago.

The Lance home was just on the outskirts of the Dome. They parted ways there, and Sara trudged on alone to the front door. She knocked on the wood of the house, ever since what happened with Laurel almost two years ago, she had felt out of place here. Barely a moment passed before the door was opened, and Dinah Lance gathered her daughter into a tight hug. Sara wrapped her arms around her mother, allowing herself to be held at arm’s length as Dinah stepped back, studying her critically.

“You’re so thin,” she clucked disapprovingly. “You need to take care of yourself, Sara.” The blonde smiled at her mother’s concern, knowing she wouldn’t get a word in edgewise but reassuring her all the same.

“I’m great, Mom, really.”

“Well, come inside, your father’s home from work and he’s been looking forward to seeing you,” Dinah waved her in, shutting the door as they stepped away from it. Sara walked forward quietly, looking around the simple but clean space until they moved into the next room, and her eyes fell on her father, already going towards her, arms outstretched.

“Sara, it’s good to see you sweetie.”

“Hi, Dad.” There was a sad, hesitant note to all their greetings, as happy as they were to see each other, there was an elephant in the room that both of her parents seemed determined to ignore. Then again, Sara reflected sadly. It wasn’t like she was going to bring it up. “How have you two been? I’ve missed you both.”

“Oh, it’s been busy, you know the drill,” Quentin’s reply was dismissive. Things never really changed in the Region, that was how the Sovereign liked it. “But what about you, how’s sea?” It was always like this, they both wanted to hear all about what she did. And of course, there were things Sara could never tell them.

“Good,” she answered. “We picked up another crew member, she’ll be a good addition, we can really use the extra help.” She snapped her fingers. “We did see a herd of bison further inland; it was beautiful.” Bison were one of the rarer animals of this time, and the sight of a full herd had boosted the entire crew’s morale for some time.

“That neat,” Dinah smiled at her encouragingly. As Sara didn’t add on to her announcement, she spoke up again. “Did you hear the big news?” she put up a happy, excited manner, but Sara could see past it. She urged her mother to continue. “Oliver’s alive. He was recovered on the border. His father didn’t make it. You should go see him; I know he’d like to see a familiar face after all this time.” She saw the way her father’s gaze went to the table, and the grief in his features. Dinah’s eyes were misty. Sara nodded.

“I’d like to try to,” she admitted. “I wanted to stop by this evening, I just wanted to see you first.” It was true, she knew she should see Oliver for so many reasons, not the least of which being her own desire to speak with him after everything that had happened.

“Well you should go before it gets too late,” Quentin suggested. “You can talk to us later, you haven’t seen him in what, ten years?” Ten years. Had it really been that long? So much had happened. “Do you want stay here for tonight?” He made the offer quickly, and Sara struggled to reply. Staying in this house was painful, but she knew her parents wanted to talk, and she wanted to see them. With the curfew set a couple hours after nightfall, getting back to the ship would be a hassle. Then again, she didn’t know if she trusted all of them to not blow something up while she was away.

“I don’t know if I can,” she settled on, sidetracking. “I never know how much of the _Waverider_ will be left after I leave for a couple hours.” Sara glanced back towards the door. “I’ll try to stop by again in an hour or so and I can head back to the docks before curfew.”

“Well don’t cut your visit with Oliver short just for us,” Dinah told her. “You don’t know when you’ll set sail again, right? So maybe we can see you tomorrow.” It was a fair suggestion Sara realized. She had gotten so used to the idea of moving as soon as they set into port; restocking their supplies, waiting the night out, then leaving at first light.

“Right, I forgot,” she admitted. “We’ll probably be in port for a week or more. And after that, I doubt we’ll have any long jobs for a while now.” Yearlong expeditions rarely occurred back to back. The _Waverider_ would be tasked with shorter missions. She said goodbye to her parents, wishing them a goodnight as well and stepped back out into the street. It was almost natural to turn to the richer center of the Dome, feet familiar with the path to the Queen mansion. She received a few strange looks as she passed, but none of the Ghosts who asked as sentries in the Dome tried to stop her. Her appearance stuck out, her clothes too plain and work ready to fit in with the styles around her.

The Queen’s home was one of the largest in the Dome, and as Sara stopped in front of it, a sudden twist of nervousness clenched in her stomach. She stared up at the impressive structure, giving herself a couple seconds before starting up the stone steps to the front door. She didn’t have an opportunity to knock, as the guard at the door stepped up as she approached.

“Name?” the woman demanded. Her voice was bored and deep, she didn’t expect any difficulty. Here was one of those places where difficulty equaled stupidity. Sara wasn’t going to make a scene and get herself arrested.

“Captain Sara Lance,” she replied stiffly. “I’m here to visit Oliver Queen.” The guard looked her over again before nodding sharply, pushing the door open and gesturing for Sara to enter. The captain did so, seeing a familiar figure just inside who set aside her work at the sight of them. “Raisa!” Maybe she should have waited for the guard to make some sort of announcement, but Sara wasn’t one for formality. The woman’s lined face lit up, and she held out a hand to Sara that the girl clasped. Raisa had always been there, maybe she was just a maid, but she was sweet and gentle, and all the children had loved her dearly.

“Ms. Sara, it is good to see you again,” the woman greeted her warmly, and Sara was reminded guiltily that she had not visited the Queens since returning from Nanda Parbat. She had seen Moira in public on several occasions, and Thea, but she had never reached out to them.

“I’m sorry I never visited earlier,” she said earnestly. Raisa’s smile was sympathetic and she hastened to reassure Sara, giving her hand a small squeeze.

“No need to apologize. You came to see Oliver, yes? I will let him know, come, sit.” Raisa ushered her into the drawing room, and Sara walked stiffly into the formal interior. She felt awkward and out of place despite Raisa’s warm greeting. She sat down in one of the large armchairs by the fireplace, waiting in the following silence. Moira and Thea must be out, or at least not interested in receiving visitors. She wasn’t sitting alone long. The footstep was barely audible, but years of experience caused Sara to stand, whipping around towards the sound. It was instinct really, usually, the only thing that snuck up on people was an enemy or a threat. She hoped that the man in the doorway was neither.

He had changed. Of course, when she had seen him last, ten years ago he had been fourteen years old, he was bound to look different. But she sensed the five years away from Starling had changed him drastically. He was broad-shouldered and tall, the lean muscles of his body obvious under his crisp white shirt. There was also a look about him, a distant, closed off expression in his blue eyes that was wholly unfamiliar. For a moment, Sara didn’t see her old childhood friend, she saw a stranger, guarded, suspicious, hurt _, dangerous._ Or maybe she was just paranoid.

But then, Oliver moved forward. “Sara.” There was warmth in his tone, and once again, she saw the familiar face, the old friend. She stepped across the gap separating them, hugging him tightly. Oliver returned the embrace. After a minute, they parted. “I’m sorry about Laurel, she was an amazing woman, it must be hard for you.” The words were simple but genuine. There was no pity in his voice, but understanding and Sara was reminded of his own loss.

“She was,” Sara agreed, unable to stop the tears forming in her eyes. She had been present for her sister’s death, but that didn’t make it any easier. Laurel’s body was found in an alley one morning, showing signs of a severe beating. Due to missing possessions, it had been announced a robbery and that was that. It had shattered the Lance family, and Sara knew her decision to hide the truth from them had been the right thing to do. No matter how hard it was.

Oliver and Laurel had always been close, they weren’t in love, but were longtime friends. Before Oliver’s disappearance, the two families had agreed on a future marriage between the Lance daughter and Queen son. Both children had accepted it, as they were expected to. Laurel had confided in Sara one letter, admitting that it wasn’t the match she had hoped for herself. However, with how close they already were, she said it’d work, and it was a better marriage than she really had much of a right to hope for. “And I’m sorry for your loss.” She saw him withdraw in a way from the conversation, a veil suddenly covering his eyes as Oliver seemed to shut down any emotions before they rose to the surface. The look he gave her was lifeless and distant.

“Thank you.” The silence that followed was uncomfortable, but it only lasted a minute. Oliver seemed to shake himself, and he smiled at her in that same way he always did. It was painted on. “I’ve heard you’ve busy. Tell about your trade, how is it?” He gestured to one of the chairs and Sara sat down just as he did, considering his question.

“Never something I considered for myself,” she admitted. “But now, I wouldn’t choose anything else. I have a great crew, an alright ship, and I’ve seen more of the world than I ever really needed to.” The added the last part with a trace of humor, but it was only until after she smiled at her own joke that Oliver reflected the expression. “What about you? I’d imagine you have a lot to take on now.” The Queen family was powerful and wealthy, and as such, they had quite of a bit of responsibility endowed to them by the Sovereign. Oliver’s smile chipped.

“I am eager to extend the Region’s successfulness through whatever way my loyalty makes possible,” he replied mechanically. The words were the same as those spoken by so many others, and Sara should have been used to hearing them. She wasn’t. They stung as though Oliver had insulted her. She managed to smile anyway.

“Aren’t we all?” Sara replied. He studied her, and the sudden intensity of his gaze set her on edge. She quickly cast around for another topic, wanting to get away from the uncomfortable feeling than had suddenly settled. Oliver beat her to it.

“Still, merchant trading, that can be a difficult task. But you said you picked up a good crew.” His tone seemed more genuine now, and he tipped his head fractionally, waiting for her answer. Sara sensed that this was what he was more comfortable, listening, not talking, and though she would have preferred to do the same, she reminded herself that he _had_ been stranded alone in hostile territory for five years.

“Great crew,” she agreed. “Took some time to collect them all, and I’ve got to admit, we’re still a little rough at times, but then again, occasionally that’s what we need out there.” And she went on, telling little bits of stories of what they had seen, what they did. Oliver was attentive throughout all of it. She didn’t want to say he hadn’t listened well before, but he had never shown the same focus, prompting her occasionally with a short question when she slowed. An hour passed, and while the conversation changed topics multiple times, Sara still noticed Oliver avoided speaking about himself, or the past five years. Their talk had lulled, and Sara was just intending to make a gracious escape when that plan was interrupted.

“Sara,” the new voice startled her, though it really shouldn’t have, she should have heard the woman approaching. Sara and Oliver both stood, although the latter didn’t seem surprised as his mother swept into the room. Swept was really the appropriate word for it, Sara reflected. The woman had this elegant grace about her that screamed royalty. Her black dress barely brushed the ground. It was the typical garb of a widow, but the gold sash she wore around her waist signified her remarriage. She held out both hands to Sara, and the blonde stepped forward to take them, giving a small dip of her head before she did so. “It’s so good to see you, dear.”

“I am sorry I never visited,” Sara said earnestly. Moira waved it away.

“Nonsense, it’s perfectly understandable. I am happy that your trade is working well for you,” Sara thanked her. With as little movement as she could manage, she glanced back at Oliver to see he hadn’t moved.

“I don’t want to interfere on your family’s evening,” she said, reminding herself to be a little more polite due to the company she was in. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your affairs.” Moira immediately tutted her disapproval.

“No, you have to stay for dinner. Your presence would be a blessing.”

For who? Sara didn’t ask the question, but it was in her mind. She was about to make her typical excuse, that she needed to be back to the _Waverider_ before curfew, but Moira was already prepared for that.

“We can have you delivered back to your ship by carriage after dinner,” she offered. The residents of the Dome had much more luxury in their translation of laws. A noble carriage travelling after curfew would not be stopped, and probably even be escorted. Sara grimaced inwardly. She didn’t have a way out. She smiled, hoping the expression wasn’t as stiff as it felt.

“It would be my honor to dine with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I HAD TO FIGHT MY WIFE TO POST THIS.  
> She saw I had written a 'chapter one' and snatched my computer because she said I need to focus on my WIPs. Let it be known, she tried to make me a better writer.


	2. Dinner with the Queens

Dinner was just as awkward as Sara had anticipated. It grew as soon as they entered the dining room, a large space all dark polished wood with fine silk hanging as curtains and wrapped around cushions. The bridge of the _Waverider_ was more ornate than most traders (courtesy of the man Sara won it from), and the bedrooms were more than comfortable, but they didn’t compare to _this_. A room full of art from the old world so exquisite that Sara didn’t even feel comfortable breathing around them.

Walter Steele entered. Sara wanted to say she remembered him, but she didn’t. She wasn’t even convinced she had ever met the man. She waited until Moira and Walter had taken their seats before she herself sat down, sitting to Oliver’s immediate left. There were two empty chairs, one next to Sara, the other next to Moira. The youngest Queen had yet to make an appearance.

Once again, Sara’s trade became the primary topic, and she answered each question politely as a soup with greens was served. Halfway through that course, Thea burst through the door, her eyes going wide with surprise as they fell on Sara. Her face lit up and Sara quickly stood, stepping away from the table to make sure Thea didn’t knock if over as she rushed to her.

“Sara!” The hug was warm and enthusiastic, and Sara couldn’t stop herself from smiling, returning the greeting happily. The girl parted, plopping in the chair next to Sara with barely a glance at her family. “I didn’t know you were home.”

 _Home_. It was a pang in Sara’s heart. She always thought of this place as her home, but over the past few years, that had become more of an honorific than a fact. Nanda Parbat had held her home for so many years, not the place itself, but a single person there. Now, the _Waverider_ was the only thing truly deserving of that title.

“We just got back today,” she answered, unable to stop her quick glance at the other Queens. Moira looked tense and bothered, and Sara assumed she and her daughter were not on the best of terms. Walter looked…uncomfortable, and ready to intervene should any ugliness arise. She shouldn’t have been surprised that Oliver was as unreadable as always; sitting back, untouched food in front of him, eyes flicking between his sister and the others gathered at the table.

“I’m sure you received a _warm_ welcome when you called on the family,” Thea rolled her eyes as she said it. She ignored Moira’s stony stare and started on her soup. “So, how long do you plan on staying this time around?” There was a touch of irony to the words, and Sara, once again, felt a stab of guilt.

“No long missions for a while now,” she answered. “Probably a couple days at most. It’ll be a nice break.”

“I’m sure you’re very happy to see your parents again after such a long time,” Moira had replaced the term _family_ with _parents_ , Sara knew it from her brief hesitation over the word. She didn’t comment on it. Laurel wasn’t a topic she wanted to visit.

“It was nice,” she said instead, unable to stop her voice dropping fractionally. For a moment, there was an awkward silence, everyone suddenly rivetted on their meal. Sara had to admit the food was delicious. On the _Waverider_ , their fare was more than acceptable, but they often didn’t have access to fresh ingredients. The moment ended quickly.

“The Region is getting more dangerous,” Moira commented. “I’m sure your father has been kept busy with his work.” While not a Ghost, the Sovereign’s elite army slash intimidation force, Quentin Lance worked as an Investigator. It was his responsibility to uncover details of strange crimes and relay the information back to the Ghosts, or, if necessary, an Enforcer.

“Now calling the Region dangerous might be a little too much, Moira,” Walter put in gently. The woman frowned, clearly not agreeing. “I’m sure the Sovereign has the entire matter under control, why the Enforcer will probably have this _vigilante_ apprehended in a matter of days now.”

“Not like he’s been running around for the past two years,” Thea muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. Her mother looked at her reproachfully. Thea rolled her eyes.

“What are your thoughts on the matter, Sara?” Walter inquired politely. “I trust you are familiar with the rumors.” With the rumors and more so. Sara nodded. This ‘vigilante’ had first popped up two years ago, although there had been precious few real sightings until recently. Apparently, over the past week alone, he had been spotted more than six times, but never apprehended. Sara didn’t know him directly, but over the past two years, what had felt like every time they were in the Region port, refugees would come to the _Waverider_ at night.

They were all charged with some type of crime, most of them had fled before being arrested. They all had the same story, that an anonymous note had been passed to them, telling them to go to Captain Lance’s ship. Her opinion of the vigilante was, obviously, uneasy. On the one hand, she and her crew would never have been able to locate so many people close to being executed or charged for nonviolent crimes. The Sovereign’s laws were gospel, after all. The ‘criminals’ they had received were guilty of anything from a noble who disagreed too much with Darke’s opinion, or a simple citizen who had loved the wrong person. A woman who had loved a woman; a man who had loved a man. Nate, of course, was kept in the dark. Sara never assigned him to night watch and often encouraged him to take time to visit his family.

Even so, the fact this vigilante knew so much about her work made Sara cautious. As virtuous as his motives seemed to be, everyone had their reasons.

“I’ve heard stories,” she admitted. “A hooded man dressed in green. But I would have thought there were more practical weapons than a bow and arrow.”

“It seems we’ve already ascertained his sanity to be questionable,” Oliver put in. All of them startled. It was ridiculous, however the man hadn’t spoken in so long, Sara had almost forgotten he was there. Moira and Walter continued their discussion of the vigilante, and Sara focused on her food. She measured her eating speed carefully, not wanting to finish too quickly. When they were all finished with the course, dishes were cleared away, and a roast bird of some sort was placed on the table, already carved. As it was served, the conversation lulled, and Sara took it upon herself to avoid any more awkward topics.

“How is production?” Robert Queen, on top of being an advisor to the Sovereign, had personally owned and overseen most metal work within the region. It stood to reason that that position would pass down to Walter after his death.

“Very well,” the man answered, and he immediately launched into a report of all the work that had been done, and that which they were still planning. It was long, boring, and as sweet as music to Sara’s ears. She prayed for him to keep speaking every time he paused, trying to appear as attentive as possible. A few times, she prompted him on with a question or comment when he seemed to be hesitating. The topic outlasted the main course, and even intruded into dessert until Walter either ran out of things to say or reined himself in. He ended in a diplomatically self-deprecating manner, saying;

“But of course, listen to me ramble on, I’m sure I’ve bored you all half to death.”

“It’s nice to hear about work that isn’t all about lugging crates around and arguing their worth,” Sara responded.

“Still, sailing around all the time must be fun,” Thea said wistfully. Sara smiled, all to familiar with the romanticized idea of what sailing involved. “And you get to see so much, why would you ever want to come back?” There was a sudden flurry of movement, Moira rebuking her daughter fiercely while Walter looked around the room, nervousness in the action. Even Oliver had stiffened, although it didn’t seem as though he had moved until after everyone else.

“Thea! That’s enough!” Moira snapped. She gave Sara a strained smile. “I’m sorry.” But of course she wasn’t really apologizing to Sara, the Captain knew that. Her apology was for the benefit of any spies the Sovereign might have listening.

“It’s getting late,” Oliver interjected. “Sara, I’m sure you want to return to your ship before curfew.” It was summer, so curfew was set two hours after dark. It was probably an hour after now, however, not wanting to turn down the offer of an escape, Sara nodded.

“That would be best, I need to make sure my crew is in as well,” she stood from the table, everyone mirroring her, and stepped around to clasp Moira’s hand in polite gratitude. “Thank you for having me,” she said. Her goodbyes were as quick as possible without being rude. She almost thought she was free, when Moira volunteered Oliver to walk Sara back to the _Waverider_ and the blonde could think of no easy way to argue her way out of that.

She escaped the manor with a basket packed by Raisa, who had assured her there was enough for the entire crew (and judging from the weight, Sara didn’t doubt it). Even with Oliver somewhat unwanted company, it was nice to be out in the night instead of the stuffy interior of a modern home. It was dark, however the streetlamps were light along the main streets and it was enough to walk by.

“You’re not staying with your parents?” Oliver inquired.

“No, I want to keep an eye on the crew,” Sara told herself it was only half a lie. There was a long pause before she spoke again. “Have you seen Tommy?” The two of them had been close growing up, almost like brothers, and she imaged Malcolm’s son would be one of the first to welcome his friend back to the Region.

“He visited as soon as I came in,” Oliver told her, then added, almost as an afterthought. “He seems to be doing well.” It really drew the stark contrast between their group of childhood friends, Sara reflected. The positions Oliver and Tommy would assume were wildly different than her own. They were nearing the edge of the Dome. For a moment, all Sara could see were these streets ten years ago; when she, Laurel, Oliver, and Tommy had run about carelessly, chasing each other in the dark, playing games of hide and seek.

“A lot’s changed, hasn’t it?” She didn’t want to be dramatic, but the statement, less of a question than a quiet comment, came out before she could help it.

“Yeah.” Oliver looked out into the darkness to their left. “We used to get caught most of the time, remember? Your father would always blame me or Tommy for dragging you two into trouble.”

“And most the time they were my ideas,” Sara added with a smirk. Oliver smiled. “But you never said anything.”

“He wouldn’t have believed me if I did,” the man passed off easily. “You got away with everything anyway, you were that ‘blue-eyed Lance girl’; always climbing things and slicing your skirts down the middle to move easier.”

“Fortunately for me, skirts weren’t that fashionable in Nanda Parbat,” Sara said. “Although-” she felt Oliver stiffen beside her, and scarcely a second later heard the faintest tell of moment off the street. Her hand dropped to her waist to feel the hilt of her knife. Oliver took several steps in front of her, his hands clenching by his side. Not willing to tell the Queens their son had gotten himself killed, Sara stepped beside him, and Oliver, seeing the gesture, didn’t move in front of her again. It all passed in a few heartbeats, just before the edges of a figure became visible, stepping onto the main street in front of them.

Sara’s hand tightened on her knife, but she didn’t draw it. Pulling a weapon on an Enforcer was suicide. Instead, she stared at Slade Wilson, refusing to show even an ounce of apprehension. Oliver was just as tense next to her.

“It’s an unusual time to take a walk. Is there problem?” it was the first time she had ever heard him speak. Sara had seen the Enforcer from a distance several times. Now, closer, he wasn’t less of an intimidating figure. His voice was deep, marked by some accent unfamiliar to Sara. His question was clearly not one of concern, but a warning, one not even veiled due to the tone he spoke it in. Oliver didn’t hesitate in his response.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Sara blinked. Well, talk about not picking a fight with an Enforcer. She remembered Oliver could be a little hot-headed at times but that was as a child. Then again, he had run into multiple problems with the Ghosts in the past, apparently well into his adolescent years. Once again, not wanting to be present at the death of the Queen heir, Sara intervened.

“I’m returning to my ship at the docks,” she stated, causing Wilson’s eyes to snap away from Oliver’s challenging gaze. “I didn’t think that would be a problem. Unless curfew was recently adjusted?” She knew it hadn’t been, and his presence was more likely to discourage or track down the vigilante more than anything else.

“No, there have been no changes,” he had no reason to turn her explanation down, after all. That didn’t mean he couldn’t. “You’re free to continue, Captain Lance. Fair luck to you and your crew.” Sara wondered whether the statement was a threat or simple parting remark. He didn’t step aside, but it was easy to walk around him. Sara did so, hearing Oliver follow suit. “Mr. Queen.” It was stiff, stilted, and honorific sounding suspiciously mocking. They reached the edge of the dome without further incident.

“I’m fine walking alone,” Sara stated.

“Not quite alone,” Oliver retaliated with a small nod to her knife. The blonde smiled, patting the hilt.

“It’s seen me through worse situations than walking down to port,” she replied. Oliver nodded and Sara took a moment to be serious. “Be safe, your family just got you back, Oliver, don’t make them lose you again.” She had no idea if Wilson was still in the area, the man was as stealthy as a shadow, and without the predictable patrol patterns of guards.

“You as well,” Oliver said. “Thank you for visiting, it was nice to see a familiar face.” Were they familiar, really? Sara didn’t know the answer to that, but she nodded anyway. They parted ways after that, Sara’s feet finding the path familiar even after her long absence. Once fully away from the Dome, the streets were much darker, with the occasional rare lamppost sticking out as a weak beacon. She shifted the basket to her other hand and walked onward, the wind softly blowing cool air around her.

The asphalt under her boots was worn and cracked. Once and a while, her foot would kick a loose pebble free, sending it bouncing away. And once, it wasn’t her own foot that kicked a pebble. In one fluid motion, Sara snatched her knife free, letting the basket drop the last few inches to the ground and lunged at her follower.

“Gah-CAP’N!”

“Nate!” She backed away, dropping her blade from his throat and sheathing it. “Don’t sneak up on people. Especially me. You should know that.” She picked up the basket again, leaving Nate to rub at the front of his neck with one hand.

“Usually you’re not this stabby jumpy,” he muttered, lengthening his stride to keep up with her. Sara didn’t reply.

“Why are you out, anyway?” she asked, not in the mood for banter. She had been sure that it was Wilson behind her, not one of her crew members. All this smuggling was getting to her head. Sara liked to fight. Not that she was the type to kick down someone’s door or break their windows and demand a match. But she appreciated the honest, open touch that a face to face fight offered. All this espionage and secrecy was the opposite, and it set her on edge.

“I’m headed back to the ship,” Nate replied, as if this single fact was the simplest thing in the world. Sara almost stopped walking.

“I thought you’d stay with your family?”

“Busy house,” Nate said dismissively. “Besides, Ray and I were working on a project.”

 _Well, shit._ Refugees begun to show as soon as the _Waverider_ made it into the docks, Sara assumed the vigilante kept track of its travels. With Nate on board, it would be harder to slip them on without attention. And with Wilson prowling the streets…he couldn’t know, could he? The thought made Sara’s stomach clench uncomfortably. Not just for her sake, but for the sake of every exiled citizen who sought safety from her ship, and on top of that, for her crew. But it was the perfect explanation, and for one, horrible moment, Sara knew she had to consider that Nate was in on it, working with the Enforcer. Gods above knew that the Sovereign was always suspicious.

The _Waverider_ came into view, bobbing gently in the port waters. Sara went aboard first, Nate following her. They didn’t stop to talk to any of the Ghosts stationed about the docks, there was no reason too, and after her earlier encounter, Sara had no desire to speak to any more of the Sovereign’s minions. As they stepped on board, Nate nodded to the basket, offering to take it to the galley. Sara had just taken him up on the offer when Ray appeared, speaking before taking note of the second person with her.

“Captain, I think we need to move to the northern-”

“I’ve told you before, Ray, I don’t want to hear about where you theorize there will be fewer barnacles,” Sara interrupted, making it up on the spot. To anyone who had reason to analyze her words, they wouldn’t hold up, but fortunately, Nate didn’t seem interested. He was already walking away, calling over his shoulder as he went.

“I’m going to turn in, night.”

“Goodnight!” Ray sometimes didn’t seem to recognize who was still technically an enemy, Sara reflected. They waited until Nate was out of hearing before returning to their conversation, walking towards the bridge. “The north vector is less populated; it’ll be easier for refugees to spot us.” Ray continued. Sara shook her head.

“Less populated means more obvious. The Ghosts will pick them out in an instant. I need to talk to the crew, think you can round them up?”

“Of course. And by crew you mean…”

“Everyone but Haywood,” Sara replied. “Zari’s part of the crew now, we might as well act like it.” They’d been excluding her from their after dark meetings, but Sara trusted the girl. She wasn’t illusioned by the safe haven that Region 06 pretended to be. She rubbed her hands together distractedly, her mind already planning out their next move. Ray looked at her in concern.

“You alright, Captain? You seem a little on edge.”

“I met the Enforcer, tonight,” she answered honestly. “I think he might be on to us.” She could see that Ray understood the importance of the statement. He was suddenly, nervous, apprehensive.

“Are you going to tell everyone?” He asked tightly, not including his usual positive remarks.

“They have a right to know,” Sara shrugged. “I don’t want them to panic but if he finds us out, I want everyone to be ready for what comes next.” If the Sovereign got wind of their actions, he would seek to shut them down immediately, and permanently. Ray left to round up the crew and Sara was left alone to breath in the cool night air. She let her gaze wander over her ship as she made her way to the bridge. The traditional term didn’t fit the _Waverider_ as well as other ships. The squat tower had two levels, the first one being the area typically referred to as the bridge and the second acting as the captain’s quarters. She entered the former, not wanting to waste time before their meeting.

This room was large and lavishly designed. Rip Hunter had certainly not spared in frivolous comforts on his ship. The wooden walls were made of dark, expensive wood and polished expertly. Over the wooden shutters were dark red curtains, the purpose of which Sara guessed was sheerly decorative. A large table dominated the middle of the space, surrounded by chairs, and the walls were lined with shelves. Books, souvenirs, tools, it was a fascinating array to any curious soul. The space was completed by a map stand and large fireplace built into separate walls. Sara was about to sit down in one of the chairs when something in the middle of the table caught her eye. With a sigh, unsurprised that it was there, she reached across to pick up the paper. She had just unfolded it when Mick and Ray came in, arguing about something that Sara was certain she didn’t want to be apart of. She held the paper a little higher to cover her face, using it as an excuse in case one of them asked her opinion. It wasn’t long before the final two entered.

“I guess you’re trusting me now, that’s cool,” Zari traipsed in behind Charlie. Sara offered her a small, tight smile, setting the paper aside.

“Seemed a good time to rope you into our messes,” Sara replied lightly. She waited until everyone had sat down before beginning. The double doors to the bridge were shut, and whatever noise filtered through (at a reasonable volume) would be too muffled to understand.

“So what’s the plan?” Mick wasn’t one to encourage small talk, and he seemed irritated to be dragged away from whatever activities he had been absorbed in. “Anyone new piss off Darke?” Everyone’s eyes went to the paper at once, guessing what it meant.

“Twenty-three verified refugees,” Sara reported. There was a murmur around the table, it was a high number, even for them. “Our friend claims they were able to move several out of the Region by land, but that method has become more dangerous as the Sovereign increased border patrols. Ten of them have already been smuggled to safe locations. Eight are not yet being watched but five are currently imprisoned, meaning things will get a lot more tough as soon as they’re broken out. There’ll be more guards, searches, and we may not even be able to leave for days.”

“What first?” Charlie asked. “Should we collect the less interesting ones? Make sure they’re safe and secure before starting the party?”

“We don’t have the resources to break people out of the Sovereign’s prison,” Ray interjected. “It’d be suicide to try.”

“Anonymous buddy says they’ll take care of the breaking out part,” Sara explained. “We just have to pick them up and hide them until things cool down.” She pointed to Charlie. “Good point about picking up the other eighteen. However, the more people we have downstairs, the higher tension’s will be. The eight who aren’t watched are the lowest priority. So,” she took out a long stick to point to places on the map as she spoke. “We want to keep the refugees split up during the serious searches, that way if one of us go down, the civilians don’t all suffer. We’ll hold on to the five freed prisoners until things die down. If we’re let out of port, we’ll drop them outside of the Region then come back for the others.”

“What about the other little problem?” Ray prompted from his chair, looking completely uninterested in breaching it himself. Sara shot him a look, everyone was now too curious to let the matter drop again.

“The Enforcer may be on to us.” As the news sunk in, the room became unusually silent. “I met him tonight and he seemed, suspicious to the say the least.”

“Whatever he knows, the Sovereign knows, right?” Zari asked, clearly uncomfortable. Sara shrugged but Ray answered first.

“Not necessarily, if he’s not sure, trying to find concrete evidence, he might have not reported it. We just have to make sure it stays that way.”

Easier said than done. Sara also doubted the Enforcer _wouldn’t_ report the news of a possible rebellion. She didn’t speak her doubts aloud, choosing instead to nod in agreement, snapping the ocean map down once again.

“More importantly, we all need to rest. Nothing’s going to happen tonight, it’s too sudden and too obvious. We’ll lay low for a couple days, maybe do an odd job or two before making our move. We don’t want to draw more attention to ourselves.” Chairs scraped back as they all stood, obviously in support of that idea. “Also, we’ll need to keep Nate out of the way. He’s not staying with his parents and I don’t need to tell any of you the risks he poses.”

They all left, and Sara walked up the stairs to her quarters, breathing in deeply to relax herself. There was running water throughout the entire ship, carried by a complicated design that had taken the input of several brilliant minds. Even so, Sara wasn’t in the mood to sit in a tub and soak and washed down quickly, changing into soft pants and a loose top. She walked over to her bed, exhausted from the long day, and lay down, pulling the covers over herself. Despite the worries pressing in on her mind, the stress she was under, she was asleep in a matter of minutes. It was light, dream-filled sleep, devoid of any actual rest, and in the morning, when she awoke, she felt even more tired than when she had first closed her eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> I HAD TO FIGHT MY WIFE TO POST THIS.  
> She saw I had written a 'chapter one' and snatched my computer because she said I need to focus on my WIPs. Let it be known, she tried to make me a better writer.


End file.
